


When Kissing Your Meister

by DollyPop



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Awkward Kissing, Canon Het Relationship, F/M, First Kiss, Kissing, Pre-Canon, Teen Romance, Teen Years, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 21:20:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6723991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DollyPop/pseuds/DollyPop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's 16 and she's nervous but she knows she wants it to be him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Kissing Your Meister

She is sixteen and she knows he doesn’t love her, but she has never kissed anyone before and she knows she wants it to be him. Maybe she’s idealistic. Maybe she’s naive. Maybe all the other girls were right: that she should have just dated one of the multiple boys who asked her out, kissed them on the Shibusen steps, had superficial, metaphorical hearts in her eyes for a month until he dumped her.

Maybe that would have been better than this. She doesn’t know what to do. Usually, she knows everything about Stein. He is her Meister, has been her Meister for months, and she knows she can go to him for anything. She has never been afraid of him, **could** never be afraid of him, but standing in front of him, breathing hard as she practically shook out of her boots, wringing her small hands as he stared at her, she thinks she was downright **terrified**.

She had to remind herself to breathe: if she was too nervous, surely he would catch on. Surely, he would see her soul fluttering, know her heart was beating too hard for it to be casual. He would know she cared about him in ways a weapon wasn’t supposed to care for their Meister. Technically, it was against the rules, but Stein had only ever read the rule-book so he knew how to evade it. 

Marie wonders if everyone would know. When she came to school tomorrow, would her friends look at her and know she had kissed her Meister? Would they know that Franken Stein’s mouth had been on her mouth? Would they call her one of the terrible names everyone had in reserve for weapons who kissed their Meisters? Did more than that with them?

She shudders to think of it. People could be cruel.

But he had already agreed. She had nothing to worry about. She had been ready for him to know, for him to understand that she had feelings for him that burned and ached in her, but he hadn’t caught on. Instead, there were no consequences. It meant nothing to him. It was just an experiment.

_ Just _ an experiment.

It was for the sake of experience, for the pursuit of knowledge. Everything he did, he did for science and this was science, too.

She doesn’t want to admit that the thought burns even worse.

She needs to stop thinking.

He’s in front of her, waiting. Her Meister. _Stein_.

Death, she loves him. She wonders if she will ever love anyone else more. 

She’s heard that the first cut is the deepest and she hopes against hope that it isn’t true. Because deep in her, she knows he could never feel the same way.

She’s selfish, she supposes. Or desperate. Or just sad, and scared, and curious for what his lips feel like on her own. Because she knows his soul, knows how it courses through her, knows how it connects and disconnects with her own, knows how it feels and how it makes _her_ feel. She knows him. She _wants_ him.

She loves him loves him loves him.

If she is going to become a Death Scythe and leave at the end of the year, she at least wants to give him her first kiss. 

After a moment, she can tell that he is looking at her soul, because his usually smooth, uninterested expression is marred by his furrowed brows and the slightest confusion glinting in his eyes. He has his head tilted in the way he always does: to the left, his glasses coming down from his nose slightly.

Marie smiles as best she can, breathes in deeply and takes a step forward to make it more difficult for him to see her soul. Only recently had he gotten taller than her, tall enough to have to look down at her, and she uses it to her advantage to hide her soul from his prying eyes.

She usually doesn’t mind, but she doesn’t want him to see the nervous, excited, terrified flutters. She realizes that it’s better this way. Just a kiss with nothing on the line.

A kiss she is waiting for, up on tip toes. Her balance wobbles and she has to reach out to grab his shirt for leverage and she imagines it must be so picturesque. So _perfect_.

It takes longer than she expects it to.

With access to her soul obscured, Stein studies her face and she hopes that he cannot see the lightest sheen of wetness in her eyes. 

Shouldn’t she be happy? She got to kiss the boy she had always wanted. The boy she loved. Whether he loved her in that way or not, he cared about her. That was more than she could have ever asked for.

But she needed him to kiss her before her eyelashes got wet, before her cheeks warmed to the temperature of a flame. She even put on her favorite strawberry chapstick but she knew if he didn’t make a move, she would chew it all off.

“Stein?” she whispers out, and she realizes that he had been staring at the amber of her irises for far too long a time. Memorizing her. Reading her. Strategizing.

She felt dissected and he never even picked up a scalpel. He hadn’t even touched her, yet. Which was why she wasn’t anticipating the feeling of his palm between her shoulder blades, her only warning before he hunched down and, without ceremony, without romance, smacked their mouths together with all the grace of two teenagers who had never kissed anyone else before.

She thinks their teeth clacked together, and she gasped from the motion and, Death, he tasted _awful_. Bitter and acrid, like the cigarettes he stole from a convenience store. She was tempted to pull away, but she could only suck in more of the shared air, pressing in close as though it was instinct for her to lean to his body.

For a single moment, she was lost. Her mind went hazy, everything inside of her shocked and electric. He was _kissing_ her.

_ He _ was kissing _her_.

She pressed in closer, tilting her head like she saw in the movies, and her leg popped up like she thought it was supposed to as she leaned to him, as she gently moved her mouth over his own, smoothing her fingers over his clothed shoulders, reveling in the fact that this was her first kiss.

It was her first kiss.

She had just had her first kiss, and he wasn’t _responding_ to her. Not like he should have. Not like he wanted her or like he even cared.

He wasn’t tilting his head, he wasn’t clutching her to him, he wasn’t tenderly stroking down her spine.

So she remembers as she has to remember. She remembers that she is Marie and she just gave her first kiss to the one boy who _didn’t love her_. The pieces inside of her break just like the illusion does, and she cannot pretend.

She wishes she could pretend.

She feels something cull out, cull away from inside of her. 

And, as he pulled away, nothing but a clinical curiosity in his eyes, his mouth slightly swollen and pink, she cannot help but realize that though he would never touch her with malice, he still knew how to hurt her.

She thinks he flayed her open down to her fluttering, flustered, sixteen year old heart.


End file.
